The Case of the Scarlet Speedster
by Crimson1
Summary: Leonart Snart, Private Investigator, never expected a case to walk through his door quite like this one, complete with murder, a frame job, blackmail, and powerful players, especially coming from a kid with bright eyes behind his glasses, a crooked bowtie, and an impossible smile.
1. Chapter 1

**In honor of Wachey's birthday (Happy 30th, my dear!), I decided to play in this sandbox I created some time ago but haven't really written for. I MIGHT return to this someday and write more, if people are interested, but for now, enjoy a little film noir flavor in Len's lovely voice.**

* * *

"Whadda ya mean, there's already somebody waiting? It's seven in the morning."

"Been waiting since six, apparently," Sara shrugged. She wore a little smirk that told me I had a surprise waiting on the other side of that door that she found extremely amusing. Never a good sign.

Seven in the morning was early for most anyone in this town—save maybe me. And Sara. Been opening my door by seven sharp since I started up the place two years ago, but Sara always managed to clock in first. Mark of a good bodyguard, I guess.

Oh she looked like a dream, like some hot little number secretary too good for a dive like this—an old office building renting out to a dentist down one hall and an ambulance chasing lawyer down the other. But anyone who thought Sara Lance was a common dame was in for a rude awakening.

She just played the part of secretary, make people think I had to fend for myself. But I wasn't dumb. Anyone working cases on the sly from the crooked cops in this town was bound to grab the attention of the families—and not the 'home for dinner and have a cocktail' sort of families. I needed protection; Sara was it.

Spent five years overseas killing for a cause she didn't like to talk about, but she was willing to kill if she had to in order to protect me for the right fee. She also answered the phones and put most of the young women and old folks who came to my door at ease with her soft smile and pretty blond hair. It worked.

She was also loyal and a good friend, which meant I knew there wasn't some hitman with a grudge on the other side of that door, but her smirk could mean far more dangerous things.

"What is it this time?" I asked, ready to pluck the hat from my head but thinking better of it and simply taking off my coat instead to hang it next to Sara's white fur on the rack. She always did look good in white. In everything really, like a rose with poisonous thorns.

"Don't know the case yet, but you'll like the client. Just your type." She grinned like a shark with an unknowing meal in front of its teeth. Her dress was cinched at the waist today, cap sleeves, low cut, her hair curled perfectly around her face like a Hollywood starlet.

Sometimes my type was what I was looking at right there in the twist of her red lips…but it hadn't been in the cards for us. Besides, she had a lady friend whose company she preferred to any man who tried to call her 'doll', just as sultry as she was and twice as deadly. No one sane would ever get in the middle of that, unless they were very lucky.

But Sara didn't mean some knockout was in my office, not this time. "I'll take your word for it," I said, and eyed my door in suspicion before I reached for the knob.

My suit was dark blue today, vest included, blue and white silver tie, white shirt. But the hat was grey, wrapped in navy to match the suit, but still lighter to counter all that dark. Some would say too dark, with my black trench instead of something tan, like the fashion called for, but I preferred to blend into the shadows when I could.

The second I walked through the door into my office, I knew that this 'client' was worlds away from me, because he was all _light_.

"Mr. Snart?" a kid not much older than twenty-five turned around from being seated in the chair facing my desk. He stood with a clumsy scramble, pushing the rounded, gold-framed glasses he wore up the bridge of his nose and smiling in relief to see me. _That smile_. It was dimpled and crinkled his eyes—hazel green—in the most endearing way.

His bowtie was red and yellow striped, white crisp shirt, checkered sweater vest, with a uniquely shaped tweed jacket sporting larger, checkered lines like this kid was bisected every which way—and that seemed to be the truth when I saw the pain pushing through his smile.

He reached for my hand before I'd finished entering, before I could remove my hat like I should have outside. I accepted it. His hand was _warm_.

"Mr…?"

"Allen! Barry Allen," he smiled a little wider still, shaking my hand with both of his, eager and a little too firm. Then he let go and rubbed both hands together like he was itching to move, or maybe had had a few too many cups of coffee. He hadn't gotten any here, that was sure. Sara didn't do coffee. Said I made it better. Maybe she was right. I could certainly use some coffee now.

Barry Allen. Brunette. Too young. Too wide-eyed. Too hunched and trying to make himself small, maybe because he felt small, but I knew he'd be as tall as me if he stood up straight. This bundle of nerves and energy had his full attention on me.

I glanced at his hands, which was easy enough since he wouldn't stop playing with them. No wedding band. How young was he, I wondered? How did this kid survive in a city like Central? Place was vicious, part of why I loved it. But a kid like him should have been eaten alive years ago. Yet somehow I could tell he was local.

"I need your help," he said, because of course he did, that's how this worked, and yet, he might as well have said, "I need _you_ ," with the way his chest heaved with his breaths and he stared at me like I was his last possible savior.

Finally, I took off my hat as I crossed the room and tossed it onto the desk. Young Mr. Allen followed my movements with more precision than I would have given him credit for—a calculating, analytical mind, just like me. Interesting.

He also flushed bright scarlet when our eyes met and he got a better look at my face that had been hidden by the hat.

 _Shit_.

This kid was going to be trouble, I just knew it. "Have a seat, Mr. Allen. What can I do for you?"

* * *

TBC?


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Allen— _call me Barry_ —looked the part of fumbling fool who was too naïve to know he'd walked into the lion's den even being _near_ this neighborhood without packing some heat, but turns out he had a few secrets even darker than mine. His old man was in Iron Heights doing time for killing his mother. Only _Barry_ swore the real culprit was someone else and his father had been framed.

Maybe that was true, wouldn't put much past this city, but if Barry was right about who was behind the frame job, this wasn't the kinda case I took lightly.

"Sorry, kid, but you think Eobard Thawne set all this up? He's not the type of man you bring down legally."

"I know that. That's why I came to you. The cops laughed me out of the precinct."

"I ain't a hitman either," I snarled, wondering if sweet and innocent was an act and this kid had it in him to get all murdery and scuffed up, so long as someone else did the killin'.

But those green eyes went wide and I knew that if there was a darker side to him, it was buried much deeper than trying to pull one over on me. "I don't want a hitman, Mr. Snart. But I need someone willing to go the extra mile the cops turn their noses at. Someone who'll take the risk to get real evidence and finally put this monster away. Even the worst of the worst for all the crooked cops in this town can't cover up Thawne's deeds if we have proof."

An optimist. Great.

Barry wasn't wholly off base though, with the right judge, the right amount of ammunition, but it would be life or death with my hide on the line to get it done. Usually, that was par for the course, half the fun of the job was getting a little lost in the muck, but Thawne was the type to make you disappear real quiet like—to the outside world. You wouldn't be gone right away in reality; you'd stay breathing for weeks, screaming where no one could hear you.

"You tell my secretary all this?" I asked, already knowing the answer given Sara's response to the kid.

"Of course. She was sure you'd agreed. Please, Mr. Snart, won't you help me?"

Damn this kid, and damn Sara too. She knew the stakes involved, had it out for Thawne's business partner Darhk, who she'd suspected for a long while had a hand in her sister's death. This opened up another avenue to investigate the scum of Central City with me as the point man.

Sara also knew I couldn't say no. I'd promised her we'd catch Darhk someday. Bringing down Thawne would pave the way for that, and also ease the potent grief of this kid in front of me who might be the last sunny disposition left in these dank streets.

"The risks involved ain't gonna come cheap, kid. How much is all this worth to ya?"

Barry looked me square in the eyes, that blushing virgin routine set aside as he sat up taller—maybe all that light was a clever mask after all. "Everything I have, Mr. Snart."

"Len. You're either turning over your life savings when this is over or paying for my funeral if it flops, so you call me Len." Might as well be on a first name basis considering we were both gonna end up on ice. "Now let's start at the beginning, kid, and you tell me everything you know."

* * *

Once I learned the real reason Barry had chosen now to come knocking on my door when his father had been behind bars for months, I should have kicked him to the curb. Kid clearly had a death wish. He'd been doing his own investigating since day one when the CCPD told him to scram. There were two important pieces of information he already knew.

First, his mother's wedding ring had never been found.

I had it on good authority that Thawne was the type to keep trophies, so that wasn't a surprised. Barry knew that too, and he'd also discovered something I'd never been privy to.

The second bit of dirt he'd uncovered was that Thawne kept his trophies in the basement of the Jitterbug Night Club.

Problem was, Thawne knew Barry's face, he was hardly inconspicuous, and he had no mind for stealth or the skills needed to break in after hours. Club like Jitterbug barely even had 'after hours'. Best time would be magic hour, right after 4AM.

The kid needed me to break in, take photos to prove where the ring had been holed up, then steal it to mail in the evidence. This new wrench in the Allen murder case would get it reopened and force a search of the club, which would catch all sorts of illegal activity the cops never had any proof on. I could take pictures of the whole lot—guns, drugs, gambling—but getting the cops to bust the place up and find the rest themselves would be more open and shut—case closed, goodbye Thawne.

It wasn't the worst plan, but it still called for me to stick my neck out more than usual. Sara would be along for the ride, she insisted, but she had to be lookout, keep my exit clean, especially since stealth tended to work better solo.

Realizing the brunt of the plan and the added risks, I hadn't kicked Barry out of my office. I'd agreed like the fool I am, maybe coz it was Thawne and it burned me that he got away with so much time and time again. Maybe coz it could lead to Darhk and that promise I'd made Sara. Maybe coz those green eyes on the kid had a way of trapping me and making me forget what day it was. Likely all three, so who was I to fight the odds?

Dressed as I'd been that morning, the only difference was now I was packing a double holster—my main gun and a backup. Sara had changed from white to black, only coz otherwise she'd glow in these dim streets, but she was still a knockout. Better to lure in the unsuspecting and drop them before they could realize the trouble they were in if they came snooping.

She waited in the alley, while I snuck in the back door to work my way down to the basement at the brief period of time when there might be too few men to kill me quickly should I get caught. Breaking in wasn't the hard part—I'd always been quick with a lock, a gun, and a getaway—but staying quiet was key.

People who belong somewhere have a certain way of walking, not too loud but not trying to muffle anything either. People trying to be quiet who can't hack it have a way about them too, a real giveaway of too much shuffling and heavy breathing.

Imagine my surprise after a few minutes of looking for the right set of stairs leading down, not having run into any trouble yet, when I heard that sort of shuffling, the telltale sign that someone else was here sneaking about just like I was but doing a worse job of it? I waited for the party crasher to give himself away, hiding around a corner so that the moment he appeared helter-skelter into my view, I had him.

"Mr. Snart?!" Barry yelped as my hands closed around his biceps.

Definitely a death wish.

"Th'hell are you doing here, kid? You hired me to get the job done _for_ you, remember?"

"I didn't mean for you to risk your life alone! I want to help. I just needed the right way in."

"How'd you get past Sara?"

"I asked."

Typical. I had to have a discussion with her about giving in to doe-eyes, though she'd probably turn that right around on me. "You follow my lead and you stay quiet, ya got me?"

"Yes, Mr. Snart."

"Len, kid."

"O-Of course. Len." He smiled, blushed again like it was a flip that got switched, and damn it, he was gonna be the death of me yet.

Pulling Barry in tight behind me, we continued on, finally finding the stairs and heading down. The intel Barry had was enough for us to know which direction to go once we hit the basement, but even with the club mostly quiet, it was no surprise that we heard voices as we got closer to the 'treasure room'.

I brought a finger to my lips for Barry to be as still as possible, listening, analyzing to assess what we were in for. Three men. _Damn_. I could handle two, but three would be complicated, especially with Barry as dead weight. We needed to abort, come up with something else, but just as I turned around to usher Barry back the way we'd come from…

He sneezed.

I stared at him deadpan as his eyes went wide with panic. We had seconds before the goons would come running, already calling out, "Who's there?!"

Pushing Barry against the wall, I saw the dead end ahead of us on the other side of that open door and knew that turning back for the stairs would mean a bullet in the back. With no other recourse, I rushed forward just as the first man burst into the hallway. His surprise made it easy to slam the blunt end of my gun against his temple, sending him toppling with his gun skittering to the floor.

The next man appeared but he was ready for me, and with a downed body between us, I didn't have much leverage. Throwing my gun in his face to disrupt him from firing at me as he took aim, I dove forward over the other body to push the man into the wall at the end of the hallway. As we grappled for control of the goon's gun, the third man came out of the room, having seen our mad dash past him, meaning he was entirely focused on me.

I spun, maneuvering our grapple to use my opponent as a temporary shield, but it wouldn't take long for his companion to find a clear shot.

The third man took aim, and I was too caught up in keeping the second man from biting my ear off to dodge.

A thud signaled Barry had come to my rescue just before the second man dropped. The kid had picked up the first goon's gun and used it as a club like he'd seen from me.

Stunned that his other companion had been taken out, the man with me offered all the opportunity I needed to knock his gun away, kick him in the stomach to make him stumble back, and then I swung, punching as hard as I could. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.

"Not just a pretty face, huh?" I said to Barry as I panted for breath.

He flushed such a lovely color. "I…"

"Come on, kid. Clock's ticking."

Snatching my gun from the floor, I pushed it into Barry's hands to replace the goon's. He seemed reluctant but accepted it. As we moved into the treasure room, I pulled my backup just in case. Ice and Lightning the man who sold them to me had called them. Fitting that Barry now had the latter, because there was definitely a spark about the kid.

Making quick work of the treasure room, I took as many photographs as time allowed, while Barry searched for his mother's ring. When he found it, I had to remind him to let me photograph that too before he claimed it, but I understood. He was eager to have it home.

Making sure to catch a few shots with my camera that showed the view outside the basement windows to confirm the location, we were soon off.

The goons didn't stir and no other grunts came rushing to their rescue. Somehow, we made it Scott free with the photos, Barry's mother's ring, and no bullet holes as souvenirs.

Sara was waiting for us right where she should be, and the three of us made a fast getaway back toward my office in her car. Barry, bless the kid, had walked there—in this neighborhood at night with that death wish in full form.

Taking up the backseat, he held his mother's wedding ring in his hands with glassy eyes at our success, while I tapped my fingers on the window ledge in the passenger seat.

"Why aren't you as happy as you should be?" Sara asked without turning her eyes from the road.

She knew all my tells. Twitching, any particular movement of my hands, were always my giveaways, but only a handful of people knew what each of them meant.

"Don't know yet, just got a bad feelin', ya know?"

"Like the Alexa Job?" she asked, bringing up a case that had almost gotten me killed for some redhead named Alexa who'd set me up pretending she was a lost soul when I was actually her mark. Lucky for me, I'd realized the ploy before heading in to my death.

Eyeing Barry's reflection in my mirror, I dismissed any parallels immediately. "Not like that. Just a feelin'. I think we better keep an eye out for Thawne's goons before this blows over. Hey, kid!" I called to the brunette in the back.

"Yes?" Barry blinked at me owlishly through his round spectacles.

"You got a place to stay tonight?"

"My apartment?"

"Is it on the books?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Then you ain't goin' home."

"Leonard?" Sara questioned, thinking maybe I was blowing this out of proportion, but once we arrived at the office, all my fears were realized.

The place was busted to hell, door broken down, office turned over. This happened while we were out, meaning Thawne sent someone after me because he'd tracked Barry to my door, not because of the club being our target. Once he realized where we'd hit, he'd come calling again with more firepower.

Barry wasn't safe. The office wasn't either. That only left my apartment, the one place no one knew how to find.

Sara dropped us off and headed home herself. Her apartment couldn't be easily found either, and she could take care of herself better than I could.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Barry asked once we got upstairs.

The apartment was about as sparse as my office, but it was clean. Maybe a little cluttered with newspapers, but there weren't any dishes in the sink. I hung up my hat and coat, tossed my suit jacket aside too, and even loosened my tie. The evening had left me haggard enough that I needed a drink.

"Be less trouble once that evidence gets Thawne's men off our backs and you can pay me. Til then, think nothin' of it. Can't make a living off clients who end up with cement shoes. Drink?" I took out a bottle of bourbon and two glasses before he got the chance to answer.

"Uhh…sure." He hadn't removed his jacket yet, maybe feeling too exposed being in a stranger's home. Sitting somewhat awkwardly in one of the chairs by my coffee table, he hunched low trying to make himself smaller like he'd appeared when I first met him.

I'd filled each glass with a couple ice cubes, since I took him for an on the rocks kinda fellow, if and when he ever drank, and brought the bottle and glasses to him. Pouring two liberal fingers for both of us, I handed him a glass, and he stared at it between his palms before surprising me by downing the whole thing.

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed when I took only a single good gulp from mine.

"Not judging. Another?"

He nodded and handed the glass back to me. This time when I handed him a couple fingers' worth, he sipped at it slowly.

"I've been wondering when they'd come to my apartment," he said. "They probably turned it over like your office, didn't they?"

"Probably."

"I'm so sorry for the trouble, Mr. Snart."

I opened my mouth to correct him, but he beat me to it.

"Len," he said with the hint of that sunny smile I'd gotten so caught up in earlier, though his frantic looks, his fearful ones, his fierce expression when he'd helped take out that goon at the club, all of it was enthralling like a penny dreadful with a three-faced hero. I'd always liked those types of stories, especially if they had complicated leads.

"You keeping that ring safe?" I asked.

Barry patted a pocket of his jacket.

"Good. We'll mail that and the photos first thing. You'll have to part with the ring for a while, but you'll get it back, I promise. I gave Sara the extra film just in case. I'll need to develop everything I have tonight."

"I can help," Barry said, beaming with excitement. "I like taking photographs."

I did too. Wouldn't have minded taking a few of Barry, which was a dangerous thought trail to follow, coz all I could picture then was a boudoir or pinup shoot featuring the boy across from me in scanty lace. I took another sip from my bourbon, then decided to finish it, and poured myself another to catch up to the kid.

"Let's do that then," I said. "Shared elbow grease should get the hard part done quick. You opposed to rolling up your sleeves?"

"Oh…" Barry seemed to notice he was a little overdressed compared to me. "Sorry, I'm not used to staying overnight with anyone but my parents." A flush filled his cheeks the moment he said that, and I had to smirk. "I-I mean…"

"Quite all right, Barry. You're a decent sorta kid, I get it. I'm less decent, but I promise I'll keep my hands to myself," I winked—and shit, the bourbon might be going to my head to play with fire this boldly.

Barry flushed darker and hid himself in his drink. The color of his cheeks like that was downright scarlet.

"Come on," I said, standing from my chair. "We can finish our drinks in the dark room. Let's get this done before we hit the sack."

"Umm…about that…" Barry said as he rose to follow me, still clutching the glass like a lifeline. I followed his gaze around the apartment to the bed in the corner and then back at the chairs—no sofa. Whole apartment was one main room other than a few closets, the largest being what I used for my dark room, and the bathroom.

"You'll get the bed tonight, kid, don't sweat it. I can sleep just about anywhere. One of the chairs is fine."

"Oh no, I can't let you—"

"It's either that or we share, so don't argue."

"…okay."

"Good. I can grab some extra blankets for the chair later—"

"I mean _okay_ …we can share." Barry held his bourbon to his chest like a child with a glass of warm milk. "Coz you're gonna keep your hands to yourself, right?" The tease of a smile was on his face through that bright blush, like he was trying to coax out of himself the nerve to say…he didn't mind if I didn't.

The bourbon had been a bad idea, I thought, as I took another sip. "Your call, Scarlet."

"S-Scarlet?"

Ogling his lithe form, I reminded myself that sleeping with a client would _definitely_ be a bad idea and give Sara fuel for an 'I told you so'. But rather than answer, I merely grinned and led him into the dark room.

No funny business happened there. I lost my tie. He lost his jacket, bowtie, and sweater vest, leaving us in our pressed shirts and slacks, sleeves rolled up, but we attended to the photographs that would hopefully help set Barry's father—and who knows who else—free.

It was late by the time the photos were hanging to dry. In the morning, I'd send them by courier to the captain of the CCPD, the only man on the force I trusted.

If I was being honest, I'd say Barry was a tad tipsy once that first bourbon kicked in and he kept chasing it with small sips of the second—and then a third. I cut him off after that, but he never got drunk, neither did I, just kept a steady rosiness to his cheeks and soft smile on those tempting lips.

How I'd ended up with a prize like him in my bed come the end of the night, I still couldn't fathom, not that flushed cheeks and an easy rapport meant I was gonna get lucky tonight. Sara would have said I was wasting an opportune moment, but this kid could be as fresh and inexperienced as a daisy for me to deflower. I owed him my restraint.

I should have known there were layers to unravel about this him—many layers I wouldn't learn about 'til later—when he turned to me in the dark and whispered, "I may not be used to this, Len…but that doesn't mean I've _never_ spent the night with someone."

"Ya don't say."

"I just don't usually get the chance. Certainly not with someone like you."

"Like me, huh? And what am I like, kid? Or do you just mean a man instead of some dame?"

"I'm not very smooth with dames."

"Sayin' you're smoother with gents?"

"I-I don't know." His eyes darkened, inches in front of my face. This bed was too small to share without itching to cross from one side to the other. "Am I?"

I was going to be decent, going to resist, I was, but no sane man could have held back with those eyes staring at him and the dusting of moles on that pretty face getting closer and closer until there was nothing to do but meet his lips halfway.

* * *

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

_Damn_ this kid could kiss.

No curbing his intentions, just pure boldness—insistent lips, a probing tongue, all making it clear as crystal that he longed for straying hands too. And I always did hate to disappoint a client.

A steady hand reached for the edge of my T-shirt before I could beat him to it, both of us down to our smallclothes, which was decent enough but could quickly be remedied. His long fingers felt warm sliding up my stomach, pushing the shirt along with it, while the slender digits of his other hand crawled into my waistband.

"Rough few weeks, huh?"

"You have no idea."

I'm sure the bourbon helped any reservations he might have had. Can't say I mind with his hands on me and his mouth sucking bruises along my throat. I thought he'd feel fragile under my touch, all angles and long limbs, but there's a hidden strength as if his blood pumps wild with electricity.

He whimpers the first time I touch him as intimately as he's touching me. I want his shirt off, mine off, every barrier gone, and Barry is right there with me, tearing articles of clothing away until we're kicking down the sheets to untangle the shorts from our ankles. All at once, he's bare and beautiful in my bed and I pause to take him in. Barry's eyes are black in the dark with lust and shadow, like a different man, like the one I saw pistol-whip a goon twice his size.

Pausing with me only long enough to heave a breath, Barry descends like a whirlwind. It's been ages since this much of someone else's skin touched me all at once.

I let my body writhe in time to the rhythm Barry sets and seek his mouth again. I'm trapped and at his whims when I expected to be the one leading. Barry is a storm, like rolling thunder, one hand at the back of my neck tight and demanding as we kiss, the other shoved down between us to find leverage.

Now I have to whimper, coz he's no blushing virgin, this kid, grip strong and sure with the both of us wrapped tight in those long fingers. It's too good to think about stopping, about breathing, about ever letting him out of my arms again.

The thunder cracks, and I'm on my back, Barry climbing on top of me, straddling my hips. No one gets me this vulnerable, but I'm pinned and not fighting to be free of it as he rides like no amount of friction could be enough.

I want more. I want connection, deep and shuddery, but there isn't time to sate this boy by slowing down.

His hips and hand on the both of us become a blur, my body thrumming in the wake of his energy, unable to do anything but let him bring us to the brink while I run my hands across his skin and up to his face, where I take hold and urge him down again.

Another crack of the storm brings our mouths together and I touch everywhere I can while he's this close. Breathy whines strike my ear and the side of my face when the kisses stop but our hips haven't. It's a mad rush to the finish line and I've never had a better opponent. Barry's free hand finds mine and laces our fingers tight, warm breath quaking against my shoulder to signal his end. It's a mindless stream of seconds later that I follow.

In the aftermath of sticky sweat, the sag of Barry's body doesn't stop our lips from lazily continuing what we started when he first asked if he was smoother with gents. Clearly, he is.

Barry tastes as good as he feels, and we lie like that long enough that I nearly fall asleep amid the mess before he giggles soft and sweet in my ear and pulls me to my feet. It's a quick wipe clean before we're back in bed, no longer caring about clothes or space in want of blissful oblivion until morning.

* * *

I'm a basket case and shoulda seen this coming, but I still don't expect the cold side of the bed when I wake up.

The clue should have been the seduction, but I don't get how screwed I am til I notice that the ring, the photos, and one of my guns is missing too.

 _Shit_.

Seems my Scarlet was a speedster in disguise and got the drop on me quicker than I could counter. He wasn't some goon for hire from Thawne to throw me off the scent he himself sent me on, no, Barry was above board there, but he'd still used me when the time was right to get what he wanted.

He might have hoped to put Thawne behind bars at some point, but the game changed somewhere I didn't notice and now Barry wants Thawne dead.

 _I don't want a hitman, Mr. Snart._

No, he wants to pull the trigger himself.

 _How much is all this worth to ya?_

 _Everything I have, Mr. Snart._

And he don't care if he ends up dead in the process.

"Sara?" I call her immediately, still getting dressed with one hand, hoping she'll have a lead.

"You're not gonna like this, Leonard."

"I was afraid you'd open with something like that."

"Seems something big went down at Iron Heights sometime between when Barry showed up to see us yesterday morning and when he decided to drop in on the take last night."

It always had to be something.

"Prison riot," she says. "His father's dead."

I pause long enough to share at the mess of my sheets. He hadn't let on for a second, lied right to my face. Apparently, that 'type' I had a weakness for made me weak in other ways.

"That would explain why he took my gun."

"He's gone?" Sara's voice rises in alarm.

"Shared my bourbon and my bed last night then ditched, with all the evidence and my extra piece." Running a hand down my face now that my slacks are zipped and shoes tied, I try to gauge how bad this is gonna be. "Kid's gonna get himself killed yet. Where was Thawne last seen?"

"He's not going directly after Thawne."

"What makes ya say that?"

"Coz I just passed the precinct and _Barry_ was walking in with an envelope under his arm."

Damn. Time to finish working at a snail's pace was over. I grab my jacket, my keys, and my remaining gun. "That idiot's being _bait_. Turning in the evidence himself so Thawne shows up in person to take him out."

"Want me to wait so I can tail him?"

"Yes. But I already know where he's going next. _Home_. You stick with him. I'll meet you there. Please tell me you're carrying."

Sara huffs over the phone. "Am I ever not?"

I hang up without goodbye—Sara knows her job and how to stay invisible—and book it out the door barely remembering to grab my hat. My clothes are clean but my skin still smells like _Barry_ , and I'm not so sure I mind. Kid conned me and I'm still rushing out to save him. Never said I had good judgment, but my word's my _word_ , and my client can't pay me if he's dead.

I make it to Barry's apartment sooner than he or Sara could get there even if they left the precinct the moment I ended that call. The place has been turned over like my office, as expected. Not too much broken, a little glass from a few picture frames, but the rest is all intact. Of course Thawne will have eyes at the precinct following Barry all the way back here where no one will blink twice at the place getting ransacked again—before the inevitable gunshots ring out.

Taking my time to prepare myself for how this might go down, I take stock of the main room, bathroom, bedroom, even a little balcony—all in all, not a bad place for a…

I stop and realize I don't know what Barry does for a living, and just how careless I've been catches up to me. I had a good night, but I'd earned the cold bed in the morning. Maybe the kid had conned me for more than vengeance. I wonder about that for all of a second before I pick up one of those knocked over picture frames to find a handsome brunette man, lovely redheaded wife, and their green-eyed boy like a perfect mix between them.

Happy family—once. Barry couldn't have lied about it all, but he sped away just fine when it suited him, like all hustlers do. I should know; I'm one too.

I leave the balcony door open, even though we're on the third floor, lock up all the windows good and tight, and check for any weapons. The kitchen knives find handy hiding places on my person before I hear the approach of hesitant footsteps outside and a gentle push at the door. I wait in the kitchen, no need to pull my gun, and hold until those nervous steps get close enough for me to act.

I have Barry pressed against the wall, the gun he stole pinned beside him, within about sixteen seconds.

"Imagine if I was one of Thawne's boys looking to shoot that pretty face."

" _Len_." Barry's eyes widen further instead of softening when he sees me.

I don't let him go just yet. "Surprised you remember my name with the way you _played me_ last night."

"It wasn't like that," he shakes his head, all the fight in him gone, not even trying to keep the gun I pry with ease from his fingers, "I didn't need to be with you like that to finish my plan."

"S'ppose ya didn't. Sure helped me sleep better though." Both my guns in my possession again, I draw back. Barry's tousled and harried, wearing yesterday's clothes. He still smells like me too.

"I wanted to be with you, Len," he says, so prettily too if it's a lie, but I wonder. I wonder… "I'm sorry, please believe me, but that monster's the reason both my parents are dead now. Prison isn't good enough for him, and there's still no guarantee it'll stick. I have to do this." His eyes fall on the gun I took like he might try to take it back, but he knows better.

"So you either end up dead today or in the Heights next, and dead within days anyway, coz trust me, kid," I step into his space until he presses himself against the wall this time, "on the inside, that's as long as you'd last."

"I don't care." He steels his expression and it's too cold for such a sweet kid, too hard and worn and tired—like me. "Thawne took everything I have. When they laughed me out of the precinct, it wasn't just as a victim wanting justice for my parents, it was as a forensic scientist."

A lab rat with a badge. No wonder he never told me what he did for a living.

"I'll never get another job in this city after I tried to go after Thawne. Turning in that evidence doesn't help either, not with saving my job, because even if Captain Singh is a good man, the rest of the officers are either terrified of being associated with me or they still think I'm a laughing stock. With Dad dead now too…I don't have anything left." The doe eyes drop to the floor, and I know this isn't a conman's game, just a scared kid in over his head who happened to need company last night after a loss.

Maybe I am getting soft.

"I know what it means to feel like that. So does Sara, truth be told. Maybe us _undesirables_ with nothing left…" I trail off until those big green eyes meet mine like that first moment in my office, and all over again I'm trapped, "…we gotta stick together."

"Isn't that sweet?"

A new voice has me drawing my gun toward the door, and I should have known there was still some surprises Barry had lurking, coz he pulls the second one from my holster just as smoothly to do the same.

Thawne stands there in one of his prim, perfect suits, blond hair styled like a movie star, with a goon on either side of him—on the premises in person just like Barry wanted.

"So sweet, I might be sick all over this carpet," he sneers with a cruelty few can manage without effort.

The goons each have a gun drawn too, pointed at me and Barry respectively, so it's a proper standoff. If Thawne pulls a piece, we'll be outnumbered, but I know Sara's out there watching. Call or fold, this one is gonna be close no matter how it plays out.

"Thawne," I say with a genial smile, "so glad everyone's in the mood to talk."

* * *

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Never used to mind a standoff like this, even odds with me staring down a barrel or two. Today's different, coz this time I'm itching with indecision having a sweet kid at my side pointing my own gun at our opposition like he might actually know how to use it, while worried sick he doesn't and is all show after losing both parents to the asshole daring to grin at him.

"Mr. Allen," Thawne says, entirely glib in his pleasantries, "all you had to do was fall in line, but you're just like your mother, aren't you? _Nora_ didn't listen either, and look where that got her."

Barry gives an aborted lurch, almost enough to erupt this standoff into a shootout like Thawne wants, but he doesn't know Barry, not really, if he thinks the kid doesn't have the sense to wait until his shot is clear.

Don't know why I think _I_ know him after only a day, but there's something in the buzz between us, side by side, beyond the lines of his body I enjoyed last night, that says—I know him better than most.

"That's why you killed her?" Barry says with a catch in his voice. "Because you were snatching up her social cases, bullying them into doing your dirty work. Drugs. Theft. She just wanted to help those kids!"

"And I needed them to help _me_. Small hands, sweet faces—they are the future, _Barry_ , and I need the future in my pocket."

I hear a familiar voice in Thawne's words. I could have been those kids. I was, for a time. Crawled my way out, but it wasn't easy, and guys like Thawne make it near impossible without a bullet in the back, even if those small hands aren't old enough to drive when they try to bail.

Figures though about Barry. Social worker mom, pop a doc, and him all but a badge. What a family, dwindled down to one in a handful of weeks.

"Didn't Singh tell you to look the other way," Thawne says, "be a smart lab rat and back off? Be smart now and I might let you live. Can't have organized crime without order, after all. We could be of use to each other."

"Singh warned me because he knew I needed the right evidence to make this stick," Barry snarls. "When I went to warn Mom, you'd already killed her. Now Dad too, just because…what? Coz I kept pushing? Coz I didn't want him rotting for a crime he didn't commit?!"

The shrug Thawne offers makes me want to plug the bastard myself. "Basically. Have some common sense, little boy. Evidence doesn't mean as much without witnesses to back it up, especially with Central's finest on my payroll. Once you're gone, those pictures you dropped off, that ring? It's all going to find itself mysteriously misplaced."

"Not if I kill you first," Barry draws back the hammer, and I see in perfect Technicolor how this is going to go down when Thawne's goon go on alert.

"You really think that's how this ends?"

"He's right, Barry." I let my own gun drop, praying I know Sara as well as I believe I do, and hoping the rare piece of sunshine I found in this dreary city won't turn his gun on me. "That's not how we end this."

"Len…" Barry glances away from Thawne for the first time, so glaringly broken, I should have seen the cracks last night but didn't. "You can't expect me to make a _deal_. I only care about ending him," he finishes with that beautiful cloud cover I know could be something truly dangerous, but Barry deserves more, deserves better—like his parents would want for him.

"I'm sorry, kid," I say, reaching to rest my hand over his and lower his outstretched arm. Thawne may just shoot us both now, but I think not. He's too much of an opportunist. He even laughs, causing his men to lower their guns too, but it's Barry's expression I can't look away from, so righteously betrayed.

"Have you no conscience at all?"

Not the first time I've been stabbed in the _front_ and won't be the last. "Too much," I say, as I finally catch sight of the signal I've been waiting for in a flicker of _white_.

Grabbing Barry by the lapels, I throw us to the floor just as a knife flies end over end through the apartment and strikes Thawne's first goon in the shoulder. The other whips his gun upward, but he's forgotten me with his attention on a phantom he has no hope at spotting. I fire at his hand, and he hisses in the clang and aftermath of having his piece knocked away by a bullet.

Thawne backs up to hide behind his shields and reaches to claim a gun from his slacks—not a complete fool then—but by this point, Sara is in the apartment, flying across the expanse as if she grew wings to soar in to our rescue. I don't pay her for the pretty face; that's just a bonus.

Sara reclaims her knife with a rip of flesh and muscle, but the man isn't down, he's sent into a frenzy, and charges her with a roar, forcing her the direction she came from. I'm up a second later, slamming my gun against the second goon's head before he can dive to reclaim his lost weapon, still shaking out pained fingers as he drops.

I need him down and then I can go for Thawne, but the kingpin is faster than I anticipate, and before I'm ready to turn to him, he has his gun pointed at my head.

"Stop!" Barry shouts, already aiming squarely at Thawne's forehead, even from the floor, tilted to the side on his hip. His hands don't shake. He knows how to use that weapon, I'm sure now, and his face screams of how much he wants to, a howl into the void he's been drowning in all because of this man.

"Barry…"

"He killed my parents," Barry stumbles on the truth of it like his voice is half gone, tears in his eyes but a sneer on that boyish face. " _Both_ my parents. They were all I had."

"I know. But this isn't how you beat him. It's what you want, I know that," I correct when that sneer grows into a larger grimace, "but he's not worth it, not worth throwing your life away and ending up in Iron Heights in his place. We can take him down right, Barry. You don't need to do this."

Thawne, sensing that his threat to shoot me isn't as weighty as Barry's need to shoot him, raises his hands, gun limp and smile insufferable. "He's right, Barry. Bring me in, go ahead. It's the right thing, after all."

Sara has long since incapacitated the other goon, standing like a wire pulled taut, ready to act whichever direction seems beneficial, but I shake my head for her to stand down. Barry needs to make this call himself.

"Shoot me and none of it will matter," Thawne says. "My organization continues like clockwork. You think I don't have men at the ready to pick up where I've left off, drawing in those kids to be our eyes and ears around the city, with small grabbing hands to pick pockets? Laundering through my clubs, building up such lovely coffers with the trinkets from the fools who've crossed me? Kill me now and all of that keeps on. Though I'll warn you, even if you bring me in, that _ring_ will be mine again, and I'll be out before long, because shoot me or cuff me, at the end of the day…I still win."

He's mad playing with fire, with a force of nature he can't comprehend, believing he's somehow better despite the odds against him and none of it matters.

I watch Barry get to his feet, expression hard and difficult to read. I stand taller too, waiting, but I've never been good at keeping my mouth shut.

I say, "He only wins if you let him mold you into something you're not," because I have experience with what that feels like, and Barry deserves better than to stagger down that path.

He drops the gun with such a slump of grief, I almost regret talking him down, but maybe there's some gratitude there too for having reached him.

Thawne's ready with some cruel retort, so I whip around and clock him across the face to stop his words in their tracks. He goes down— _out_. And we're surrounded by bodies.

"Good job, kid. We're gonna see this through, I promise."

"How can you be sure he won't weasel his way out of this too?" Barry asks, wounded but hopeful.

"Well…" another voice heralds the arrival of a familiar face—Captain Singh with several officers tailing as they enter the apartment, "the confession I just overheard should help. Nicely done, Allen. Snart. Miss Lance. Between the evidence you brought in, your witness reports, and Thawne's own words, he's not talking his way out of this one."

I don't usually give CCPD credit, amazed they'd ever show up when needed, but glancing from a stunned and hopeful Barry to Sara, I see the satisfied smile on her face.

"Thought it might be worth it to call this one in for once," she says.

Worth every penny I pay her, and then some.

It's by the book from there—statements to give, paperwork—so even a few moments alone aren't in the cards for me and Barry yet. He looks at me through it all like he's sorry, like he's the scum of the earth for taking solace last night and betraying my trust in the morning, and afterward for almost, _almost_ stooping to Thawne's level.

I try to convey with a look that I don't need any groveling; I'm content with how things played out, but this kid, he's too good for his own sanity and needs assurance, especially after losing everything, unsure how to fit into his life that isn't and never can be the same again.

We've missed breakfast and it's nearing lunch when they finally release us into the wild, so before any gush of rambling words can leave him, I turn and say, "Hungry? You're buying, of course, coz I'm guessing you don't got much money to cover your tab with me, do ya?"

He blushes, standing on the street in front of the precinct, still half in a daze from how all this went down. Sara's gone now, disappeared like mist to give us privacy, though she'll grill me later for details and tease like my own sister would.

"Uhh…not really. I have my savings—"

"Then _save_ it. I'm sure we can work out other ways to pay off your debt."

He blushes deeper, and I shake my head at him.

"Head out of the gutter, _Scarlet_. You planning to go back to the CCPD and be a lab rat again?"

"N-No, I…I don't think I could—"

"Then maybe I got a better offer for you. Let's take a walk and find something to eat."

* * *

Thawne goes down hard and the city rejoices for a spell, but he wasn't lying when he told Barry he wins no matter what happens, coz he's got partners, see—Darhk, most notably—who takes over in his absence.

The evidence doesn't take down Darhk with him, but it does push him into the light to pick up where Thawne stumbled. Sara's need to take that man out for killing her sister, a twisted parallel to Barry's case, is rekindled, and maybe, just maybe, we can finally get in close enough to end his reign like we did Thawne with the chaos in the exchange of power.

We'll have to be careful though, as we work side cases to pay the rent and our own paychecks, hoping to make Darhk pay as Thawne has to protect this city where the CCPD can't.

Of course, it helps that I got a new face on the payroll, even if I can't pay him much.

Helps that he can't afford a new place yet and can't return to his old one, so he's been staying with me.

Barry's my lab rat now, and he's good at what he does, got him setup with a workspace in the corner of my office. He notices things even when it's not about the science, so he's useful all around, and rounds out this team where we were lacking. Sara's got a soft spot for him, and I think he has a bit of a crush to be honest, though not enough to make me jealous.

Nah, I couldn't be jealous, not when the door's closed, keeping Sara separate from us, and Barry's finished his work or waiting on results and comes striding those long legs from his corner to my desk. Never was a blushing virgin, that's for sure.

I lean back from poring over mugshots, and he slips between me and the paperwork to crawl into my lap so my hands got nowhere to go but his hips.

"Highly inappropriate behavior, Mr. Allen," I squeeze the grooves beneath my grasp.

He giggles and leans close in enough to bump my nose. "So sorry, Mr. Snart. Should I go back to my desk?"

Cheeky. Sunshine in this dark city, no doubt about it, but with a trail of darkness all his own—just enough darkness that I pray it's never nurtured too far. Maybe I can help with that, maybe he can help with mine, maybe we're two suckers in this world who happened to find each other, and we'll ruin the goodness right out from between us, but oh, if that's true, _what a way to go_.

"I think we can make better use of the situation," I say and claim the offered kiss like a dozen time before.

No finger-wagging now. I slept in the armchair at home a solid week before letting him talk me into bed again, just to be sure he knew what he was asking for before we headed that way with any seriousness. But he's a grown man who knows what he wants. Just my luck that happens to be me.

His lips put a hold on everything, like stopping time, no matter how often I taste them. That's no superpower though, just a feeling. See, my _Scarlet_ , he's fast, catches me by surprise time and time again, but he can't hold back the flow of time for real.

A knock interrupts us and we groan our displeasure in perfect harmony.

"What?" I call to the door.

"Client to see you, Mr. Snart," Sara says with her secretary voice, like she doesn't know exactly what we're up to and would roll her eyes if she could see us.

I groan again, but Barry snickers and lifts off to return to his desk. I grab his hand as I call in answer, "One minute!" and drag him back for one last stolen sliver of time.

Even if only for a moment, the next case can wait.

* * *

THE END

At last, an end to this, but I've toyed with the idea of expanding it, stretching out the story into something longer. It also ends with the idea of all three of them taking down Darhk for Sara, so...who knows, I do like this pairing.

Thank you all for reading!


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